21 november 2007

For better or worse, lack of words or inspiration and as remedy for the perpetual insomnia, I have to put this to paper, however virtual it may be. Let's flog a live horse proper shall we, and do this in English.

Autumnal Sweden is always a rough patch, and enormous loudspeakers or not, this filthy apartment is utter cold and unkind. Especially so in the unrelenting grip of this chillingly beautiful and vastly lonesome hyperdub at two in the morning.

An apocalyptic adventure far beyond whatever can be called conventional about dubstep, Burial steals darkness from the gods, like a phase-shifted Prometheus. He tells stories of a world in constant hypnagogia, well resonant with its absurdity, yet paralysed to alter anything, like the playing back of Kafkas echoing pen strokes.

Though what makes the record, is that it is much more than mere post-apocalyptic horror. There is a vague and unreal hope present. Barely lucid but still very near, like wandering home in lonesome headphones at seven in the morning, feeling the disconnect of last nights drinking becoming today's weary angst, not once acknowledging the existence of the world.

This is apocalypse, an urban confrontation with the void. This is the void. This is beyond humanizing. Endless stretches of fractured concrete and empty souls. Infinite cityscapes stuck in a transfinite dawn.